Look, I weent to my Dad's weddngtoday, and I;'ve got lods of pictures,and I'd like to pit them up but I'm too fuckojng wrecked. Tomooroworw I'll put them u[pm aloing with some video, but right now I can';;t be arsed. Sufficew to say I had a reallly nice adfy, Seeyyou tommoreww,
x
9.6.06
6.6.06
Oh Come On Satan You Tedious Cunt.
Alright, everyone knows that you missed a trick with the Millenium. That would have been an ideal time to rise from your firey pit and overthrow a confused and panicky humanity, but nothing happened. No Millenium Bug, no plague of boils, in fact there was no grand gesture on your part at all.
"Fine", I thought at the time, "he certainly won't miss the really big date coming up in six years or so".
I should've known better. It's now nearly half four on the sixth of the sixth, oh-bloody-six, and it's starting to look like you've stood me up again, you complete prick! I mean, what are you thinking? Have you totally lost your flair for the Grand Guignol? Everyone knows you're slowly winning the battle anyway, what with the decline of the moral standard, the corruption of youth, the war, the murder, the blah blah blah, but come on, couldn't you just this once have said "oh, fuck the long game" and given us a bit of spectacle? I mean, look!
It's like your very own version of the Bat-signal, shining into the midnight sky that is man's damnation, and you can't even be arsed to show your scaly face. Well, I'm almost out of patience. If you don't show up on the ninth of the ninth two thousand and nine, then let me tell you, it's over.
"Fine", I thought at the time, "he certainly won't miss the really big date coming up in six years or so".
I should've known better. It's now nearly half four on the sixth of the sixth, oh-bloody-six, and it's starting to look like you've stood me up again, you complete prick! I mean, what are you thinking? Have you totally lost your flair for the Grand Guignol? Everyone knows you're slowly winning the battle anyway, what with the decline of the moral standard, the corruption of youth, the war, the murder, the blah blah blah, but come on, couldn't you just this once have said "oh, fuck the long game" and given us a bit of spectacle? I mean, look!
It's like your very own version of the Bat-signal, shining into the midnight sky that is man's damnation, and you can't even be arsed to show your scaly face. Well, I'm almost out of patience. If you don't show up on the ninth of the ninth two thousand and nine, then let me tell you, it's over.
31.5.06
It Won't Always Be This Amateurish. Promise.
Right- Does the sound work for you?
Is the lyp-synch lined up okay?
Is it a waste of time?
9.5.06
8.5.06
I
Ryan opened the window, squinted, blinked.
Rain.
After a night like that any weather would have seemed magnificent, but rain... well. Rain was perfect.
Without giving his mind a chance to wander, Ryan turned himself back into the room and in one liquid movement dressed in the blink of an eye.
Purpose, action, motion.
A cigarette and no toast for breakfast and he was outside, keys, change and all. Diving into the street, striving toward purpose, replacing reason with feedback and concentrating on the imperative- If you stop, you fail.
Wet through, steam coming out his nose like Taurus.
Old, wet faces cursed his passing with mutters and oaths, his image in the raindrops the only proof he ever existed. Move, don't think. If you stop, you fail.
Destination. Resolution. Happenstance and kismet.
All things considered? Good day for a funeral.
Rain.
After a night like that any weather would have seemed magnificent, but rain... well. Rain was perfect.
Without giving his mind a chance to wander, Ryan turned himself back into the room and in one liquid movement dressed in the blink of an eye.
Purpose, action, motion.
A cigarette and no toast for breakfast and he was outside, keys, change and all. Diving into the street, striving toward purpose, replacing reason with feedback and concentrating on the imperative- If you stop, you fail.
Wet through, steam coming out his nose like Taurus.
Old, wet faces cursed his passing with mutters and oaths, his image in the raindrops the only proof he ever existed. Move, don't think. If you stop, you fail.
Destination. Resolution. Happenstance and kismet.
All things considered? Good day for a funeral.
6.5.06
3.5.06
Time.
Maybe it's that the new series of Doctor Who is in full swing, but I find it very cool that later on tonight, in the early hours of Thursday morning, the time will read:
01:02:03, 04/05/06.
It can't be just me, surely that's really very cool indeed?
Anyway, in other news, I have an interview on Monday. I won't post any more details until it's over so as not to invite the jinx-monkey in. Had a lovely bank holiday weekend with Harri and the Aber crew, but like a cock I forgot my camera, so no pics sorry. Another time.
Hope everyone's well.
Lewis.
01:02:03, 04/05/06.
It can't be just me, surely that's really very cool indeed?
Anyway, in other news, I have an interview on Monday. I won't post any more details until it's over so as not to invite the jinx-monkey in. Had a lovely bank holiday weekend with Harri and the Aber crew, but like a cock I forgot my camera, so no pics sorry. Another time.
Hope everyone's well.
Lewis.
19.4.06
I wouldn't normally do this.
The new TOOL single has been leaked, so here's a link if you give a stuff. If you're reading this then you probably already know how full of shit I am about bands that I love, but trust me, it's really fucking good.
If the TOOL news doesn't interest you, have a picture of Laura's dog instead:
Either way, don't say I never give you anything.
Oh, and nearly forgot- It seems we have a reader in China!
Who's this grumpy girl, then?
If the TOOL news doesn't interest you, have a picture of Laura's dog instead:
Either way, don't say I never give you anything.
Oh, and nearly forgot- It seems we have a reader in China!
Who's this grumpy girl, then?
10.4.06
Nostalgia?
An on-the-spot, heat-of-the-moment post for you here, folks. To 'fess up, all day today I've been feeling nostalgic as hell. I've been going through pictures on my hard drive, sorting stuff into folders and just sort of shooting the shit with myself, remembering old times and sighing a little bit over a bottle of wine. I've also been looking for reviews of Therapy?'s new album, "One Cure Fits All", and I realised that I didn't have the live CD from Scopophobia on my hard drive, so I went and dug it out. As I opened the case, what fell out?
(Click for bigger version)
A picture that perfectly sums up everything I've been feeling mardy about today. I must have stuck it in there for safekeeping during the move from Swn-Y-Don two years ago.
I think a frame is in order.
Hiya to Rob J, Kara and De Chikken.
Marko
x
(Click for bigger version)
A picture that perfectly sums up everything I've been feeling mardy about today. I must have stuck it in there for safekeeping during the move from Swn-Y-Don two years ago.
I think a frame is in order.
Hiya to Rob J, Kara and De Chikken.
Marko
x
3.4.06
I make no apologies.
We are who we are. Some people get excited over football. Some people take interest in politics, still more watch the world of celebrity and gaze into the fishbowl of fame to pass the time away. Me? I like accidents of nature. So hush now, steel thyselves, draw back the curtain and feast your eyes.
A few days ago (March 29th) in Nepal, someone gave birth.... to this:
Fuck me. According to www.kantipuronline.com, "the bizarre baby... died after half an hour of its birth", which is understandable. What eludes me, though, is why Dad is parading the poor fucker through the streets in a potty:
You've gotta love it. My first thought was "Fuck me, it's Frank Sidebottom".
Good, eh?
In other news, school is very testing (I caught the little fuckers throwing frogs at each other earlier. You read that right), but a lovely fortnight off is fast approaching. Hope everyone's well.
Have fun, freak fans!
Lewis
x
A few days ago (March 29th) in Nepal, someone gave birth.... to this:
Fuck me. According to www.kantipuronline.com, "the bizarre baby... died after half an hour of its birth", which is understandable. What eludes me, though, is why Dad is parading the poor fucker through the streets in a potty:
You've gotta love it. My first thought was "Fuck me, it's Frank Sidebottom".
Good, eh?
In other news, school is very testing (I caught the little fuckers throwing frogs at each other earlier. You read that right), but a lovely fortnight off is fast approaching. Hope everyone's well.
Have fun, freak fans!
Lewis
x
19.3.06
Time for an old classic, I think:
Here we go, folks: Ulli's Roy Orbison In Clingfilm Website. A proper oldie-but-goodie.
14.3.06
They did it.
I can't believe they fucking did it. Goodbye the man. Goodbye the legend. Goodbye Tony Almeida.
I promise this is the last 24-related post I'll write, as I appreciate it might be tedious for those of you who don't watch the show. I never thought they'd do it, but they actually went and did it.
Almeida24@hotmail.com
Perspective.
At the start of this term, I got a long-term placement teaching pupils who've been permanently excluded from mainstream school. I'm teaching (or attempting to teach) kids with severe behaviour and learning difficulties, and all term I've been getting home and thinking "fuck, those kids are a total and complete waste of skin, what cunts". Then today I found out that one of my pupils' fathers is in prison for murdering someone with a shotgun a few years ago. Another girl (fifteen) has been sleeping around on her estate for money. Whatever grief I get off these pupils (and I do, believe me- it's been nothing but "queer, gay, dickhead, queer" all term) I have to realise, sat here in my comfy chair in front of my broadband, in my house with my Xbox and my PSP and my girlfriend and my cafetiere and my two jobs and my paycheques, that circumstance is all that seperates the best of us from the worst. I could be them, and they could be me. It's nothing but blind luck that gives us our start in life. We have no choice in what soil we're sown. I must keep my sense of humour, and look to happenstance for a reason why some things are they way they are.
9.3.06
4.3.06
22.2.06
Craniopagus Parasiticus.
Say the words to yourself once or twice. Ten syllables. Cranio-pagus Para-siticus. The biological equivalent of finding an extra large and deformed M&M in your packet. Twins, but wrong. A human life, twisted by a matter of womb-inches, to the status of a tumour with a face. Insane ethical questions. The stubby bit has reflexes and a seperate personality- introduce a bottle to its mouth, and it sucks. It remains awake while the host sleeps. Without its own heart or respiratory system it has no hope of independant survival- it's just a head, after all. But is it human? Is it a person? The entity as a whole- two people, or one with a noteworthy addition, like a third nipple or extraneous thumb? Medical intervention is mandatory, as one heart can't support that much matter, but should the approach focus on excision of the alien mass, or prolonging the survival of the entity as a whole? Given time and care, could the extra head be capable of learning? Is it sentient? And if so, would a surgical procedure to remove it qualify as excision or infanticide?
Craniopagus Parasiticus. Two heads aren't always better than one.
18.2.06
You want WHAT?!?!
You want to know what I'm listening to, as I'm listening to it? You want to be able to see what sort of music I listen to, and when? You want charts of my most popular artists, and a breakdown of when I listen to them most? Better go here then, and make sure to leave a message in my shoutbox telling me you came from my blog. I'd recommend Audioscrobbler to anyone, it gets more interesting the more you play with it. The only downside happens when your girlfriend plays Kelly Clarkson on your PC and puts a blemish on your oh-so-cool and eclectic listings. Hey-ho.
11.2.06
My Name is Janet Morgan.
I am filthy. Something happened to me before I became this way, something that my mind has chosen to not let me remember. I can only guess what it might have been- a brother carved up by the mob? A mother raped by a gang of mental patients before my infant eyes? A beloved pet, kidnapped and mailed to me piece by piece? Who knows? Not I. One thing however, is sure. I am bar none the most hate-filled, loathsome, dry and unloving motherwhore on the face of this fuckbecursed rock, and wherever I see the promise of good or the potential to prosper then I pour my bile over the seed as quick as I can to suffocate and immolate any hope of a brighter future. Underneath these drab garments of scratchy hessian my skin is as parchment- a thin, transparent firmament that barely holds my herniated and prolapsed organs in place. So lucent is this film that each heartbeat would be visible were I naked- each spasm of life can be seen pushing its way through my veins, the black ichor that I call blood can be seen forging its way through the courses of my foul being, working its way ever onward toward the black spasming mass of tumour that I call a heart. My name is Janet Morgan. Run me down with your car. Find my home, and mail me posthaste gifts of burning turd. My name. Is Janet. Morgan.
5.2.06
What do you think?
War casualty? Botched suicide? Act of a vengeful God?
Or "other"?
This site's nearly a year old, so do please join me in a big fucking yippee.
Another year passed, and we're still waiting for The Rapture.
21.1.06
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
